Drew Magary

Time for your weekly edition of the Deadspin Funbag. Find more of Drew's stuff at KSK or on Twitter. Email the Funbag here. Today, we're covering bin Laden, breastfeeding, The Fugitive, and more.

Before we get to your letters, kudos to TMZ for asking if Obama had victory sex on Sunday Night. Because he totally should have. His seaman should have conducted a forceful raid of his wife's compound to celebrate that news.

Brandon:

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If you were given the opportunity to kill Osama yourself, would you have done it? Obviously you become a hero, you're elbow-deep in girls, and you never pay for a drink again.

But on the flip side, there are probably a lot of crazy terrorists that want you dead. I don't see how you live for more than 5 years after killing him.

What do you do?

I was watching the news last night and they said it was one SEAL who fired the two game-winners, right in bin Laden's eye (I saw the alleged photo of his corpse online, which wasn't terribly pleasant to look at, and yes I know it's fake). That man, whoever he is, now occupies a unique place in American history. No American was able to kill Hitler. No American was able to kill King George III, or Ho Chi Minh, or Castro (but there's still time! GET ‘EM!). No American was allowed to kill Saddam Hussein (but I bet plenty of guys asked really nicely to do the honors). All our biggest historical rivals were able to perish under other circumstances, to deny us the satisfaction of doing the deed ourselves. And that's some serious bullshit, because I think we all would have loved a shot at Hitler. FACT: Killing Hitler is the basis of 78% of all time travel fantasies.

So the fact that an American actually DID kill bin Laden, before he was able to die of natural causes or something else like that… Well, that's quite something. The SEAL responsible for his death has done something that, if you think about it, no other American has ever done. That's not to say he's braver than other soldiers, or better, or anything like that. It's just an astonishing thing to contemplate. Imagine being able to bring that up in a job interview. "Well, I worked at Frito Lay for six years, and coordinated a staff of 32 people. Oh, and I killed bin Laden."

There's nothing to indicate that the soldier in question (or the rest of his team) will ever be named, likely remaining anonymous to protect them all from being targeted for the rest of their lives. I dunno if any of them would want all the "perks" that would come with the notoriety anyway. Read any book about war or military history and you find numerous stories of war heroes feeling ambivalent and/or guilty about the adulation they received for their valor. Sure, you got to kill bin Laden. But thousands of your countrymen died seeking him out, and the idea that you got to kill him while all of them died terrified and uncertain is probably an enormous source of internal conflict. You were the ONE guy, out of every American soldier who has ever fought or died through history while hoping to one day depose the spiritual leader of our worst enemy, to actually do so. That's quite a burden. But yeah. Yeah, you'd probably want to kill the fucker if you had the chance. And I love that they weighted down the body and threw it into the sea, even if that's a religious custom or whatever. They may as well have sent a Sicilian telegram to everyone afterwards.

By the way, bin Laden's death gives me a chance to tell you the following 9/11 story. I started a new job the day before 9/11/01 in New York at an ad agency. The morning of the attacks, I was in a benefits seminar, going over health insurance and shit when someone ran in and told us that the WTC had exploded. So I go down and start watching it on TV. If you looked out the window down the avenue, you could see the smoke rising over the skyline. And my new boss, we later found out, had a very close friend die in one of the Towers. So later, my boss called the client to tell them that the agency was taking the entire week off. Well, the client wasn't too pleased about this, demanding that the agency keep working, at one point screaming at my boss, "IT'S RETAIL!"

And I found that morbidly hilarious. That there was some braindead marketing executive out there so completely consumed with piddly shit newspaper ads that he barely batted an eyelash at the fucking end of the world going on. "What's that? The Trade Center was destroyed? Yeah, well I've got bigger fish to fry. This quarter-page ad needs to go in the Atlantic City Beach Report STAT!"

Adrian:

How many times since bin Laden's death have you daydreamed about being on the badasses on the seal 6 team?

Over and over again. I also daydreamed about being the President and delivering the news. Imagine being able to walk up to a podium and drop that bombshell. God, that must have felt great. I would have had a massive hardon the entire time.

By the way, let me just say to any namby-pamby dipshit out there who's getting all worked up just because people were dancing around happy because bin Laden was dead: FUCK YOU. Okay? Give the country one goddamn day to act overly patriotic. People out there weren't just celebrating the fact that bin Laden got two in the dome. It's the relief of knowing he can't hurt anyone anymore. That man cast a pall over many of us for the past decade. I found him to be a legitimately frightening person, the same way I find Charles Manson to be a frightening person. Rational or not, his death makes many people feel much safer, and a whole lot less paranoid than they have been for some time now. So let people wave a flag and give a cheer. It doesn't make you a bad person to celebrate the fact that you feel, at long last, like you can finally move on now.

Anonymous:

I have a dying relative that I am close to. The relative is a hardcore Catholic and I am an atheist that doesn't believe in anything. I have been asked that when she dies, I should do the eulogy. Do I lie on the pulpit and say my relative is in heaven because the relative wants me to? I really am torn because I fucking hate religion and everyone that knows me, knows that.

Well now, that there's a conflict for you. But just because you're giving a eulogy in a Church doesn't mean you have to talk about believing in Heaven and Jesus and stuff. Just treat it like a private memorial. Talk about your friend's life and how wonderful they were, and tell an embarrassing fart story about them. You can do all that without getting into actual theology and no one will begrudge you for it. They'll probably commend you for it.

I often visualize giving eulogies for people I'm close to, and that's a fucking weird thing to fantasize about. I don't want any of these people to die. So why am I picturing myself at the pulpit, giving a rousing eulogy that leaves everyone laughing and crying and erupting into spontaneous applause? Am I really that shallow and self-absorbed? I am? I am.

Lew:

I only crave Chic-Fil-A on Sundays. It started out as me craving some one random Sunday, then finding out the hard way that they were closed. Then, every subsequent Sunday I kept reminding myself, "Hey, asshole. You may be able to do just about anything you want today, but there is no way you are getting Chic-Fil-A". At this point, it's a self-fulfilling prophecy. Every Sunday around 2 p.m. my mind reminds me how bad I'd kill for some Chic-Fil-A.

You know who probably supported the closing of a sinfully good chicken joint on Sundays? BIN LADEN.

Swiznami:

Is there anyone on the planet that thinks the views expressed in the DVD commentary reflect the views of the studio? Who the hell says, "I'm writing the CEO of Sony because of what Russell Brand just said!" Studios will crank out torture porn movies by the ton, but god forbid the commentary offends someone. And who the fuck says anything inflammatory in these comments?

First of all, you'd be surprised at how many tightasses out there DO, in fact, write angry letters to movie studios and corporations when they feel offended by something. There are a lot of very old people out there with very little to do. I've seen some of the complaint letters that advertisers get, and they're terrifyingly stupid. And the thing is that corporations will go out of their way to placate those people. If four people write angry letters protesting an ad, they'll pull the ad. They're comically spineless. Secondly, I write to movie studios all the time to object to Russell Brand.

But I think they also do it for internal reasons. So if the director of Brown Sugar decides to start bitching about the cast and crew on the DVD commentary, one producer doesn't go getting all pissy with the other. That's what the disclaimer is really about. It's a sort of multipurpose CYA disclaimer in case the commentary results in some kind of internal political conflict. Because people who make movies are very sensitive and needy people, and it's easy to get them all upset merely by saying on a DVD commentary that they have all the acting skill of a can of beets.

I think the only people who listen to DVD commentaries are DVD critics anyway. You see that all the time in any DVD review. "Hey, the commentary was kind of boring." NO SHIT. That's because it's assholes talking over a movie. They only do the DVD commentary because they get their rocks off on doing the commentary. I know I'd be jazzed to do a DVD commentary of my own movie. "This poop scene was surprisingly difficult to stage, what with the eels and all."

Alex:

In April 2006 I was on a flight from Warsaw to Chicago by myself. The why is irrelevent, but the plane was a classic 3-5-3 setup, and the middle 5 was occupied by me (then 23 years old), a 30-year old suuuuuuuuper Polish blond chick, and her baby. No one else, so we had a lot of space.

Anyway, halfway through the flight it was time for some breastfeeding. The normal way to do it is to lift the shirt and put the baby on the boob. There might be some minimal exposure of that boob, but the game is the game. But because this woman was the most stereotypical Polak of all time, her game plan for breastfeeding the baby was to REMOVE HER ENTIRE FUCKING SHIRT (no bra). I thought I had landed in some warped universe. Anyway, so now the next 15 minutes were spent in 5 seats in the middle of a mostly empty plane in the middle of the Atlantic, me, a completely topless woman, and a baby sucking on one breast. It was an incredibly strange time and I had conflicting and very strange feelings.

Yeah, I don't know how I'd feel about that. I mean, it's hard to argue with a free breast sighting. One breast is occupied by a nursing baby, but the other one is presumably free and clear for ogling. I think you could compartmentalize that easily and deploy it to the spank bank.

I disagree strongly with the 3-5-3 setup on international flights, by the way. Odd numbers of seat clusters means you're almost always going to have to sit next to a stranger (and, in the case of traveling abroad, a foreigner, which is even worse because they're foreign and weird). They could make it a 4-4-3 formation so easily. At least, I assume it easy to re-engineer a plane like that. Seems like a snap.

Bryan:

Have you found yourself planning in advance what you would do if you ever accidentally or "in the heat of the moment" killed someone? Do you have an escape route planned out?

I don't. All I have is the "get in the car and keep driving to Mexico" daydream that occurs to me any time someone cuts me off and I want to murder them. But that's not a real plan. You have to have savings squirreled away in the Cayman islands, and fake ID's, and replacement VIN tags for your car. I am woefully unprepared to kill someone, and that kind of makes me sad.

HALFTIME!

Jim:

All day long, from the commute on the train in the morning to the commute back, and for every reasonably attractive female that passes by my office door in between (but excluding images encountered, e.g., on the web), I do at least a quick imaginary mental-bang of dozens of women each day. Hell, they don't even have to be that attractive. I've fucked disabled fatties - in my head - just for a laugh. If you were to tally the total number of women you've had some mental relations with, how many do you think total in your lifetime?

What's the world population? Roughly that. The mind of any man is a sewer.

Brent:

What happened to Dr. Richard Kimble after the end of The Fugitive? I know he proved he was innocent of murdering his wife, but he was still hiding from the law for months. Did he get released with time served (did he actually serve any time? I think the accident was on his way to prison in the first place)? Charged with obstructing justice and sent to prison? Released and re-hired at his old job? These questions have been nagging me for years.

Of course he didn't go back to prison. He was exonerated of the murder and any resulting charges and went back to being a doctor. That's always implied by any happy movie ending. The guy gets off completely, and any other legal entanglements resulting from his escape are dealt with swiftly and efficiently. I assume he also grew his beard back. You could tell in the beginning of the movie that he really loved having that beard. I think growing the beard back would mean a lot to him.

And I think he definitely went back to being a doctor. The only problem is… well now, would YOU have Kimble be your doctor? I mean, he was cleared of killing his wife. But hey, YOU NEVER KNOW. Maybe he found a convenient scapegoat in Devlin MacGregor Pharmaceuticals. Maybe HE was the one who knew Provasic caused liver damage and then iced his old lady. And even if you believe him, you're still talking about a man who went through an unfathomable trauma. Dead wife. Betrayed by his best friend. Forced to go on the lam. The man probably has severe PTSD. You want that guy operating on you? I think Kimble probably never recovered his patient base, then decided that all the stares from passersby on the street were just too much. So then, he lit out for Switzerland, where he remarried and lived in relative comfort. Perhaps some of these questions are answered in US Marshals, but I wouldn't know because there's no way I'm ever gonna watch that piece of shit.

By the way, one of the interesting things about The Fugitive (apart from the fact that it's one of the greatest movies in the history of the universe) is that Julianne Moore is listed fourth in the film's credits despite being in the flick for roughly eight seconds. I believe she was meant to be a love interest for Kimble, but it was left on the cutting room floor. Maybe after the movie is over, he goes back and hits that. Because a Julianne Moore character is always DTF.

CG:

On a scale of attractiveness from 1-10, would you rather be a 9 or a 2 but with the power to teleport? It has to be a 2 with the ability to teleport, right??

Teleport. Being able to teleport means you will make money. And if you have money, then you could have a fetus growing out of your jaw and women will still sleep with you.

Jason:

Hi Drew! Just a PSA from your friendly neighborhood cop... The next time you see one of us come up behind you in a police car, relax. It may look like we are going to stop you because we are right on your ass. It's doubtful. We are probably going to one of those calls that is kind of urgent, but not urgent enough to go lights and siren to get your slow ass out of the way. Yes you heard me. When you turn into the "world's best driver" in front of us and go 5 mph under the limit WE WANT TO DISINTEGRATE YOU WITH LASER BEAMS. 90% of us don't give a SHIT about traffic stops or pulling you over - ever. If you see a cop riding your ass and he hasn't stopped you within about 30 seconds, do him a favor and get the FUCK out of the way anyway. It will reduce your stress and ours and will allow us to get to the little assholes breaking windows at the used car lot that much faster. Thank you.

But then why wouldn't you just put on your sirens anyway? Why the fuck do I have to guess as to your intentions? What do you expect me to do if you're on my ass? Do you really expect me to assume you don't want to pull me over and blast back to 85mph? YOU COPS ARE DICKS.

Ryan:

Funny looking Turkish Airlines ad on a hotel featuring Kobe across the street from STAPLES Center.

At first I thought it was Alonzo Mourning after a few whippets.

Jesus, that is awful. It looks like he fell asleep in a desert with a sleeping mask on.

Mark:

After reading the story about Ina Garten snubbing a Make A Wish kid, I got to thinking what my wish would be. The 1st to come to mind (assuming I can't wish for endless wishes) would be nailing Brooklyn Decker or smoking a joint in the White House. But those seem too easy. Should I wish to be a manager for a baseball team or to be a head coach for an NFL team? Or do I go on tour with Prince? So many decisions.

I think if we're dealing with REALISTIC wishes, like those bestowed by the Make-A-Wish Foundation, your choices are pretty limited. No sex acts. No money. It's basically "meet someone famous" or "do one cool thing". And meeting famous people is boring as shit. I think I'd probably ask for a free trip or something. But let's face it, those poor Make-A-Wish people probably have to spend 80% of their day explaining to very sick cancer boys why they can't get a blowjob before they pass away. Because that's what every dying young boy wants. Even that kid who's getting to ride with dolphins and shit is probably thinking to himself the whole time, "Man, I really wish they had gotten me a blowjob." If a kid I know ever gets cancer, I'm buying him a blowjob, damn the consequences.

Greg:

How much would you pay to have the ability to dunk? I came to the conclusion that I'd pay $5,000 up front and $1,000 per year for the ability to dunk.

Full tomahawk jams and everything? I guess $5,000 is reasonable. But why the yearly fee tacked on? Dunking should not have both an upfront fee and a subscription fee. That's some country club bullshit. Flat fee. No recurring costs, dammit.

What would you pay to be able to fly? Because I'd pay a whole lot more than $5,000. No one would ever buy a house again, because they'd tie up all their debt into flight mortgages instead. I'm not spending $500,000 on a fucking house when I could use the same loan money to fly instead. I'll rent. I could even build a literal nest for myself up in the forest. Then I'd fly chicks back to it and that would get them way hot.

FW Duke:

If I had knocked up Kate Middleton before the wedding, would the royal family have had me killed or would they have tried to pay me off? If they tried to buy me, how much money would they offer? Would they make her have a top-secret abortion, or would she keep the baby and claim it was William's? I wouldn't mind sacrificing an offspring for a nice payday, and it would be pretty cool to know I sired a future King. If they had me killed, who would do it? Would it be a British government assassin or would they invite me to a fake dinner and have some old, Queen-loving, foppish manservant slit my throat with King George's antique, jewel-encrusted letter opener while I was eating roasted squab with glazed carrots? I'd really like to fuck Kate Middleton.

You wouldn't have been killed, because that's far too much trouble. You would have been discreetly paid off and forced to sign all manner of nondisclosure agreements for your troubles. If they were smart, they'd also make you sign a waiver saying you'll never try and bang Pippa, because Pippa is a foxy little minx. I think she would be asked to have an abortion, because they'd want to make certain that the child's real father was never revealed decades down the line. Then you could ask to keep the baby and they would pay you off even more. So not a bad little payday for making love to a rather fetching young woman. I envy your daring in knocking her up. Not that you actually did it. Still, that took grit.

Hey, time for your email of the week!

Jon:

This is a great story, for a variety of reasons. For one, I can't verify its truth, other than the fact that Thurman Thomas @replied to my roommate recollecting this story on Twitter and asked him kindly to 'stop hatin'. As such:

My roommate's friend was working a local golf tournament in New York for some celeb types. He was peeing in the men's room, when suddenly hall of fame running back Thurman Thomas lumbers in and barfs in the urinal. Sick, I know (but kind of cool too). Suddenly, Shooter McGavin walks in (actor Christopher McDonald) and unabashedly proclaims "Goddamnit Thurman!" and helps him clean up. My roommate's friend asked for an autograph from Mr. McDonald and had the gall to call him Shooter. Shooter didn't even acknowledge the comment.